


Memories in the Rain

by Pippin4242



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, Mild shipping, didn't every bleach writer call a fic this?, old!fic, wow this is more depressing than I remembered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-07
Updated: 2007-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin4242/pseuds/Pippin4242
Summary: On a wet night, Ukitake reminisces.





	

  
_at first there is nothing_  
then  
thunder fills me like my own power  
dissipating into rain, rain, dripping at the window  
oh.  
and I am warmsoftdry  
hairy  
his hairy arm brushes my jaw  
it is raining  
and he is holding me  
and he is asleep  
when did I get here?  
thunder!  
(real thunder)  
jumping despite myself  
I nuzzle closer  
he stirs and  
-in his sleep-  
he lifts me without knowing  
I do not struggle

 

_Memories ripple, their dark pool stirred by the falling water._

_It was on a rainy night, of course._  
Raindrops blossomed on the lake  
The leaves were refreshed  
I couldn't be angry at the leaves. They didn't know.  
The adrenaline left my body then, and  
A dull ache. As if I had been punched in the stomach.  
I wanted to be sick. I think it would have helped.  
In any case the fire in my lungs-  
should have cleansed me, but it couldn't.  
Nothing on my hands. No blood. The rain washed my blood away.  
It wasn't mine that mattered.  
(My veins were filled with rainwater)  
No, in keeping my hands clean I dirtied them  
irretrievably.  
A horrible, messy end.  
(The rain lied and said it wasn't-  
washing his blood into the earth  
I knew the plants would grow strong through his pain and  
already  
so soon!  
I knew that anything I planted there would flourish in the fertile soil  
in his memory and flesh)  
And the one true testimony to his ridiculous end  
was borne away by a child  
not half his size  
Rukia, you are the rain.

_Thirteen is inauspicious, I said back then_  
I joked it should be fourteen  
after me.

_I wanted_  
I wanted-  
to find her, tell her,  
throw myself at her feet.  
See the boy.  
Leave myself to their mercy.  
but  
with every step my sodden sandals  
dragged me down into the earth  
where his blood had fled.  
My clothes stuck to me. I was drowning where I stood.  
If I cried it wouldn't matter  
The rain could swallow that too.  
I saw the girl embark  
wanting to follow her  
I waited until she left my vision and then I threw back my head  
and screamed.

_Darkness blotted out the edges of my vision._  
I couldn't move but tremble.  
I was swaying in the wind, I was a hundred feet tall and as wide as the land my leaves caught the water and I was the storm  
I shrieked and sobbed and fell forward  
(ruining my coat, I might add, for even now money matters)  
and I spilt my blood into the earth that it might join his  
the smallest sacrifice I could make, and far too late  
I closed my eyes.

_That night_  
(oh, that night)  
I remember still  
warm hands  
standing, without seeing  
naked, stripped bare of clothes that burnt with rainwater to my icy flesh  
the warmth  
as water gave me its love again  
and I could breathe  
and I cried and sobbed and called his name  
and the strong fingers worked the mud from my hair  
and there was blood in the water  
swirling on the surface  
and I was absurdly glad that it hadn't faded.  
Tea was pressed into my hands  
(I was dry? These clothes were not mine)  
and I knew nothing more than to drink deeply  
and feel my blood begin to flow once more.  
That night, I stayed in his bed. His hand caressed my head  
(his other pressed me to him)  
and my feet were warm upon his legs  
(they had to throw the socks away).  
And every time I heard the rain my tears began to flow  
with a direct link to my eyes, it seems,  
for there was no conscious decision to break  
down.  
but there we are.  
Eventually,  
the rain stopped.  
And there was a morning. And bright sun.  
And his hands, giving me hot tea.  
And never a word, for we did not need to speak.  
My toes felt for the edge of the mat  
and I knew that they were warm  
(and thought of those that would never be warm again).  
I was offered a hand.  
I took it. Stood. Felt the air move through the room.  
(I took him in my arms and kissed him)  
And then I led my division as only I knew how.

_It was hard,  
but the one who had departed was a luxury in my life, after all.  
I gave up small things, like sick leave  
and somehow  
life went on._

(On some rainy nights I wake to discover that somehow I am no longer in my bed, alone. For this I am eternally grateful, and yet I still have not said thank you).

 


End file.
